


snowed in

by ataxophilia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Morning Sex, because reasons, damn straight, girl on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataxophilia/pseuds/ataxophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly and Will get snowed in at Will's house, which is the perfect excuse for some lazy morning sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	snowed in

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty unabashedly just smutty fluff.
> 
> Utterly unbeta-ed so any and all errors are mine.

“Uh,” Beverly says from the window, one of Will’s flannel shirts draped over her shoulders, half the dogs whining by her feet. “I don’t think we’ll be making it to work today.”

Still mostly asleep, Will blinks at her back, and mumbles something that started out as a, “What?” but got a little mangled on the way out.

“Snow picked up during the night,” Beverly tells him, twisting to look back at him, mouth curling like she’s just found a piece of evidence too good to be true. The movement dislodges Will’s shirt - it falls open, baring her chest, the curve of her breast - and Will swallows roughly, eyes tracing over the skin.

Beverly shifts her weight, and Will’s gaze shoots back up to her face, a flush creeping up his neck at her arched look. She laughs at that, easy where he’d thought she might be offended, and turns to face him properly, letting the shirt open fully. “Will,” she says fondly, tilting her head to one side and smiling again. Beverly smiles at Will a lot, he’s noticed. It makes him feel more solid. "You went down on me last night, and then fucked me up in that bed you’re sitting in.” His flush gets darker, hotter, spilling onto his cheeks, but she’s still smiling unabashedly. “It’s a little late to be getting prudish on me.”

“I-” Will rolls his shoulders into a self-conscious shrug, his eyes flicking away to his dogs, still crowding around Beverly’s ankles. “I'm not- prudish,” he spits the word out like ammo, “I just-“

The words he needs won’t come. All the explanations he catches onto are too cliche, or too overly dramatic, or too plain stupid - I just can’t believe you’re still here, I can’t believe you've stuck around, I can’t believe you let me have sex with you. I can’t believe I haven’t scared you off yet.

His silence makes Beverly’s face fall, her smile fade, and she takes a cautious step forward. The shirt brushes over her thighs, her stomach; Will watches, can’t help it. She looks good in the plaid pattern, reminds him of home. “I know you’re not,” she says, a little uncertain. “It was just a joke, Will. I know you’re not a prude.” There’s a smile in her voice again when she adds, “You've proved that enough times,” and it’s that smile that makes him lift his eyes again to meet her gaze.

She smiles again as he does, her whole face folding into it, and steps forward again, and again, until she’s stood in front of him, leaning over him. “I’m sorry,” she tells him, and Will wants to tell her that she doesn't need to apologise to him, that he’s grateful to her for treating him like a proper human being, not resentful, but he’s not sure how to put that into words either, so he kisses her instead, wraps his fingers around the collar of his shirt and tugs her down into it.

She goes easily, swings a leg over so she’s straddling his hips, and the way she laughs into his mouth makes him brave, makes him say, “I can prove it again, if you need me to.”

“Why, Will,” she pulls back to say - and Will loves the way she says his name, too, when she laughs it and when she moans it, loves the way it rolls off her lips - “That was almost seduction.”

And then she’s kissing him again, tongue insistent against his, her hands running down his chest to his cock - they sleep naked now, pressed up against each other, close enough that her breath rushes over his skin and he can feel her heartbeat through his dreams. His breath goes heavy in her mouth, fingers tracing up her sides to cup her breasts, thumbs coasting over her nipples because he loves the way that makes her arch up into him.

“How much snow?” he asks. Beverly pauses, brow furrowing as she tries to catch up with him.

“Enough to count as a snow-in,” she says when she realises what he’s saying, her face lighting up with amusement, eyes dancing wickedly. Will laughs at that, laughs as she ducks back down to bite fondly on his lip, laughs as she pushes him back down against the bed and rolls a condom over his dick.

He drags his hands back up her thighs and catches hold of her hips as she lowers herself down onto him, his grip tightening when she rocks forward experimentally. “I haven’t had morning sex in forever,” she says, pressing her hands to his stomach for leverage. She grins, adds, “You look good in this light,” and starts to move in earnest, hips grinding down into his.

Her hair falls down over the shoulders of his shirt, swaying as she rides him slowly, lazily. Will watches her stomach clench and unclench, watches the way her whole body moves above him, watches her face as she smiles sweetly down at him - this is his favourite position, Beverly surging over him, stretched out so he can see all of her at once, can track her pleasure in twitches and gasps and jerks as he slides a hand between them and drags his fingers over her clit. He knows her body well enough now to know what speed, what rhythm, pulls her steadily up to orgasm, makes her buck against his hand and tremble above him.

“Jesus, Will,” she breathes, breath fluttering in her mouth. The sound of it builds in his stomach, hot and tense, and he presses his fingers harder, strokes faster, until she’s shivering all over, nails biting into his skin, body tightening around him. She’s swearing, breaking off into cracked moans, hips jerking erratically, and the pulsing of her cunt against his cock drags him over too, leaves him chanting her name like a chorus as he comes.

She leans forward and kisses him carefully on his lips when his body’s stopped shaking, then lifts herself off him and clambers out of bed. “I’ll go get some coffees,” she tells him, brushing her hair out of her face and straightening his shirt before wandering out of the room, throwing, “Try not to fall asleep,” over her shoulder as she goes.


End file.
